


Every Time

by LyingMonsters



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Cuddling, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Kissing, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: There are promises they make to each other, not through words or grand gestures, simply through little things, every time, and that is better.





	Every Time

Every time, they weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Feliciano, who buried himself in Ludwig’s arms, or Ludwig, who wouldn’t let him go once it happened? Regardless, it ended the same way: with Feliciano pressed into the blankets by a heavy, warm, _sleeping_ form, spreading his hands across Ludwig’s bare back and feeling his breathing coursing like electricity through every inch of his body.

He was so solid and real and alive, and Feliciano made sure every morning by tracing the lines of his shoulders where they were normally covered by his jacket, or the curve of his brow when he was asleep and peaceful and it wasn’t furrowed by work, or the smile that barely touched his lips when he was blissfully happy. All the things he hid, finally rising to the surface for Feliciano to try to capture in a memory he’d polish to a precious gem.

Feliciano had longed to trace those perfect lines forever, but it wasn’t the right time, or someone had come in, or a million other circumstances that he promises himself to make up day by day now.

He simply sits and breathes and absorbs the man before him until sunlight spills across the room and across the bed. It wakes him up to the greetings of gentle touches that melt into kisses, of buttery bright sunshine illuminating their faces and making them squint and miss, noses bumping and smiles dissolving into laughter.

And sooner or later, Ludwig moves off him, usually with an apology that Feliciano dismisses. His numb legs give him an excuse to be picked up and carried to the table.

0o0o0o

Every time, it seems to be a different reason that starts it. Maybe it was the kiss Ludwig stole before stepping into the shower, or the way Feliciano begged to join that led to messy hair sticking to damp skin, pushed back for another kiss on the nose or temple, so tender and sweet that it’s only natural to close their eyes and lean in.

Blond hair untangled and slicked back turns to jagged bangs, the spikes wetted down and stuck to Ludwig’s forehead and neck. Feliciano’s hair is rarely neatened properly, and hands running through it to match a mock-conspiratorial whisper or the jets of water that sluice down around them make it a veritable nest.

But before that, there are grins that break to giggles and soft hands and steam that eddies around them like a curtain from the world. And it’s not perfect, some would say, because they’ve fallen and toppled over all the shampoo bottles or ended up sprawled on the floor crying with laughter before, and they get distracted so easily from everything else. But God, is it perfect to them.

0o0o0o

Every time, Feliciano insists on walking. Walking to dinner is nice, yes, with his Italian excitedly discussing what he wants to eat and the sun just gilding the windows. Walking home is even better, both just on the edge of sleepy from the meal and a drink, Feliciano pressing close to his side, conversation slower as it meanders to the neighbors or their friends. Sometimes there is a dog waiting along the path, and Ludwig will stop to pet it. When they get home, Berlitz and Blackie and Aster will jump at the door and greet them, hindering Ludwig’s attempts to take off his coat as Feliciano laughs and rubs his hands over their glossy coats. Later, the dogs will be asleep and they will be, too, after discussions that last late into the night and each other’s arms.

Wandering is even better, especially when the leaves have just turned and the air is full of the smell of autumn. They have nowhere to go and nowhere to be except for with each other and no goal but to chase the gold that transforms the windows into diamonds up to its highest point.

Sometimes it’s the park, and Feliciano swings his legs as they sit on a tree branch, marveling at how the leaves are gilded by nothing more than the sun. He runs his fingers along the wood until they reach a gloved hand, and Ludwig takes his hand in his own and kisses the fingertips. Most nights, they’re distracted from the sunset before they reach home. 

Other nights, it’s the city. The leaves are falling around them. Ludwig takes Feliciano’s hand and the brunette swings their arms with a laugh, pulling Ludwig along as they run through the city full of gold. The streetlights are lit, and they reach for that liquid gold instead, passing from circle to circle, fingers entwined, playing tag with the shadows, secure in the knowledge that the other is right beside them. Those nights, they don’t know or bother to find out where they are going, their gazes straying from signs and back towards a joke or story or gentle kiss in a streetlight’s illumination. Those are the only directions they need. Those were the directions that led them back out of the dark, and they trust them to keep leading.

Feliciano’s hand is warm and real in his, the warmth of his skin the only anchor when the city swirls around them and Ludwig has to pull that beautiful, beautiful young man into the cone of a light and kiss him senseless, feel his touch everywhere, feel his steadiness after all these years.

The golden light seems like droplets, slipping down to pool at their feet, infusing their kisses with the tang of the city.

And sometimes people see them, and Kiku waves or Alfred grins or Gilbert calls across the street to tell his little brother a new story and mess up his hair and hug Feliciano, and he comments on how ‘domestic’ they are with the fondest sort of chuckle. He always parts with a few words about how they’re _right_ for each other, and it sets an ember of happiness in each of them so they can’t help but hold hands and kiss in the sunset.

Their affection is given so honestly, so freely, and yet it is never and never will be casual. They cherish every moment, for they are precious to each other, more than the sun and the moon and the stars that swirl above them. Walks in the dark with entangled hands and laughter and the smell of fall in the air among the streetlights is worth so much more than real gold.

0o0o0o

Every time, it feels like he forgets that he’s supposed to be eating and not just watching Feliciano talk and smile and look at him. But with the dusk outside and the candlelight of their table inside, with Feliciano bright and warm before him, who could blame him?

Feliciano tells stories like the Roman myths. Outlining landscapes in the air, drawing him into a world that shines with all his vibrancy. Even if it’s just stories about his day-even if Ludwig was there-Feliciano tells them brilliantly, and Ludwig finds himself caught up in his words.

It’s a joke about Francis’ bird or what turns into a contest with stories of their older brothers and they’re both distracted again, near tears with laughter. For a bit, they don’t need to worry about national problems when they can talk about Gilbert’s stunts or steal kisses across the table.

The dinner usually ends with them hastily paying and dashing out before the restaurant closes and walking back home with fingers twined.

0o0o0o

Every time, it’s quiet except for breathing and the whisper of paper. The couch beneath them is old and ragged around the edges, but it’s comfortable. Ludwig aimlessly traces circles on Feliciano’s back and turns pages of a book. Feliciano reads his own book, but he can’t help looking over to see Ludwig in glasses or read pages over his shoulder. When he does, Ludwig teasingly reprimands him to read his own book or kisses him soft and gentle, hands still tracing circles.

They lay there in the almost-silence, curled up together, legs lazily tangled. Some days, they barely acknowledge the other except to smile, hands still tracing. Some days they are close, fitting together nearly perfectly and pressing kisses to temples and fingers as they read.

It’s almost noiseless in the late evening after dinner, sleepy and golden. The world slows down as Feliciano kisses along the back of Ludwig’s neck until he puts away his book and kisses him back, warm and laced with amusement, pressing him back into the couch. His fingers dip under Feliciano’s shirt and almost tickle, and Feliciano giggles and falls off the couch and onto the floor with a hand in Ludwig’s shirt so he falls too, and then they end up together in the patches of dewy late sunlight, laughing and warm and almost asleep until Ludwig carries Feliciano to the bedroom.

Gentle, blue eyes and gold eyes and soft, lazy hands and the blankets draped around them. The world is all sunlight and dust and it’s okay to relax, to curl ever closer with hands tangled in hair until they sleep.

Every time, they promise to each other to remember that there are good things in the world-sleepy mornings and dogs and good food and the intangible something called love-and in the face of being nations and the world itself, those good things still exist.

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of peace suits them, I think. 
> 
> :: Windows at dusk, gold and warm


End file.
